Plays "High Gospel"

There were a lot of peculiar things about the recent Godspeed You! Black Emperor reunion: the unexpected, out-of-nowhere timing of it; the uncannily ageless, I-can't-believe-it's-not-2000 quality of the band's performances; the inclusion of "Weird" Al Yankovic on their curated All Tomorrow's Parties bill. But perhaps the strangest thing was seeing Efrim Menuck recede back into the role of silent, anonymous, ensemble player. More than any other member associated with the Montreal orchestro-rock collective, Menuck has spent much of the past decade deconstructing the mythology and challenging the assumptions surrounding Godspeed (take your pick: they're anarchists; anti-social; humorless; Luddites; squat-dwellers; etc.). Not only has Menuck's offshoot band Thee Silver Mt. Zion emerged over the past decade as a lyrically direct, increasingly aggressive rock band, Menuck has both made himself more readily available to the press and, in concert, become a rather hilariousstagebanterist.

So perhaps it's no mere coincidence that Menuck's re-immersion into the Godspeed regimen coincides with the appearance of his first solo album, Plays "High Gospel", a record that, in spirit if not sound, recalls another solo album released in the shadow of a monolith: John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band. Both albums are consumed by matters of love, loss, abandonment by maternal figures, and spirituality; both showcase the respective artists at their somberly tender and uncompromisingly abrasive extremes; and both are emotionally raw, deeply personal works greatly distinguished from the bands that earned their makers renown. (And, come to think of it, Menuck's wiry wail of a voice is pitched about halfway between Lennon's elocution and Yoko's anarchic shriek.)

If Plastic Ono Band's psychic terrain was mapped out by the death of Lennon's mother and his blossoming romance with Yoko, on "High Gospel", the emotional goal posts are set by the birth of Menuck's son and the 2009 suicide of his friend/collaborator Vic Chesnutt. And as to be expected from a record recorded over two years in (according to Menuck) "scraps and hiccups," the song-to-song shifts in mood can be disarmingly severe, moving from the churchly organ tones, defiantly celebratory choral vocal, and synth starbursts of opener "Our Lady of Parc Extension and Her Munificent Sorrows" to the frosty, electronic chill of "A 12 Pt. Program For Keep on Keepin' On", which sounds like a séance conducted via shortwave radio, with a cacophonous, click-tracked surge of percussion intensifying the feel of impending doom.

However, as "High Gospel" plays out, such jarring transitions seem to be less the result of random, grab-bag sequencing and more a manifestation of the album's central theme: that moments of joy and sorrow often come without warning and, in some cases, are triggered by one another. The beautifully desolate piano ballad "Heavy Calls & Hospital Blues" presents a peaceful portrait of a sleeping child that's shattered by an ominous late-night call from the infirmary, while the mantric, ecstatic closer "I Am No Longer a Motherless Child" works the other way, as Menuck comes to terms with the pain of losing a parent by becoming one himself.

But it's the seven-minute centerpiece "Kaddish for Chesnutt" that best exemplifies "High Gospel"'s attempt to reconcile happiness and sadness, confusion and comfort, living and dying. Menuck has obliquely referenced his Jewish roots in the past, from the "Mt. Zion" in his band's name to the Hebrew script that graced the cover of Godspeed's Slow Riot for Zero Kanada EP. But here, his invocation of the Kaddish-- a prayer chanted during Jewish funeral services-- proves quite literal, as a mournful electric-guitar soundscape yields to a solemn, repeated group vocal (courtesy of Menuck and some Silver Mt. Zion mates), not unlike that of a temple congregation praying in unison. Though traditionally recited to commemorate those who have passed, the Kaddish makes no explicit mention of death, and likewise, "Kaddish for Chesnutt" makes no direct allusion to Vic Chesnutt. Rather, its repeated, increasingly impassioned invocation of the Old Testament's "tree of life" is Menuck's means of elevating the late singer to the realm of the eternal, lifting his skinny fists like antennas to heaven.